


Star Wars: Fall

by Revalio898



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Anti-Hero, Enemies to Lovers, Fallen Jedi (Star Wars), Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Seduction to the Dark Side, Slow Burn, The Dark Side of the Force (Star Wars), The Force, War, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Revalio898/pseuds/Revalio898
Summary: Hundreds of years after the sequel trilogy, the galaxy is unified under the peaceful Galactic Federation and protected by the New Jedi Order. As the actions of a madman threaten to destroy the era of peace, however, only one Jedi is willing to go as far as it takes to save the galaxy.
Kudos: 1





	1. Fool's Errand

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a pet project of mine, and I'm posting as I write it. It's a story about good people doing bad things for good reasons, and the trauma and angst that causes. I've had this idea for a story that doesn't really have a clear villain? Just different perspectives that all seem reasonably valid.
> 
> Because no one ever really considers themselves to be evil. Everyone is the hero of their own story. 
> 
> First time really doing this, and I have NO IDEA what I'm doing, but yeah!

The galactic capital of Coruscant is far, far away from its sun. Orbital mirrors catch and amplify and focus the rays of light, heating and illuminating the city-world. With its technological aides, the yellow orb of Coruscant’s sun rises over the horizon.

It rises over the pyramid of the New Jedi Temple; it rises over the dome of the Galactic Senate. It rises as it has risen every day, without fail, for thousands of years. Republics crumble, empires fall, but no matter how bleak and desolate times may be, this sun has always risen. 

It is hundreds of years since the death of Darth Sidious. It is hundreds of years since the fall of the Old Republic. This is a new era; peaceful star systems are bound together into the Galactic Federation of Free Worlds. It is an age of peace unmatched since the glory days of the High Republic.

It is an age of Jedi. There are hundreds of them. They are peacekeepers, artisans, warriors, scientists, heralds of the light. Their order is strong, for they cast off the stifling doctrine and dogma of their predecessors. Some Jedi choose to marry; some even have families. Some trainees are inducted into the order as infants; others are twenty, thirty standard years of age. All are welcome to step into the light. 

But this is not a story about peace, nor is it a story about the Jedi. Peace has never lasted. Inevitably, the brightest lights birth the darkest shadows. This is a story about the dark. It is a story about a bright future that went horribly awry.

There are millions of stars just like Coruscant’s sun in the galaxy. They are searing, burning bright and seemingly eternal. It is an illusion. All things die eventually, even stars. This is a story about death. The death of an age of innocence. The Federation, the Jedi, the golden age of peace—

All things die eventually. 

Valen Corar woke with a start, in a cold sweat. The crew cabin’s air was cool against his clammy skin. He sat up, resting his head in his hands and trying to get his panic and his racing heartbeat under control. He took a breath. It was the dream again. Well, not a dream; a nightmare. The same nightmare he kept having. The one he’d been having for weeks. He took another breath. 

The dream where his fiancée was crushed to death. He could still feel the rumbling of masonry and the whip-crack of falling stone. He could still hear Sera’s scream. He took yet another breath. It wasn’t real. Sera was still alive; they’d spoken over the holocomm just before he had gone to sleep. _It wasn’t real_. He raised his head to look at the chrono with red-rimmed eyes. 

It was 0400 local time. The local sun hadn’t risen, and wouldn’t rise for another couple of hours. From the narrow bunk underneath his own bed, Valen could hear the rhythmic breathing of his Padawan, Arkai Sull. He quietly rose from his own bed, pulled a coarse shirt over his head, and then left the room. 

Valen reclined in the cockpit of the ship and took out his datapad. Unbidden, he tapped on his messages and scrolled to the one that had brought him here, to the swamp-ridden sinkhole of a planet named Reko Azzar. 

The message had come three days ago, on Valen’s private comm frequency. It consisted of a string of coordinates and a time. The subject line had simply read “I CAN SAVE HER”.

The time provided on the message was five hours away, and the location was a dinky little cantina on the outskirts of Reko Azzar’s sole settlement. Valen couldn’t really sleep until then; he was too nervous. He also didn’t want to. Sleep brought the same dream. The same nightmare. 

So he sat there, staring through the cockpit’s viewport as brown-tinted rain splattered and dripped. He sat there until the watery yellow sun rose over the green, mucky horizon and painted the miserable swamp in shades of olive and chartreuse. Then, making sure not to wake Arkai, he donned a waterproof poncho and stepped out of the cramped little courier ship and into the interminable sludge of the marsh world. 

***

Everything _stank_. From the clinging mud that his boots sank into, to the hot-humid air that slipped greasily over his skin, everything on Reko Azzar was repulsive. Valen wiped the sweat off his brow—because on top of everything else, the sun was blazing hot too—and stepped over the threshold into the cantina.

In contrast to the sun outside, the cantina was positively murky. The only illumination came from dim orange lights set in the plaster ceiling, half of which were either broken or blinking. A dozen beings, none of them human, populated the room, slouching in booths with ripped upholstery or sitting up against the bar counter. 

Valen slipped into an empty booth, the slick plasti-cloth tacky against his damp clothes. The alarm he had set for 0900 local time made his chrono vibrate, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. 

Nothing happened. For five long minutes, Valen studied the other beings in the cantina, contemplating whether he should buy a drink. One look at the mildew creeping over the duraplast ceiling, however, persuaded him to not do so. 

Then a protocol droid, so corroded that its original color was lost, grated towards him from a darkened corner. It was missing one photoreceptor; its remaining good “eye” flickered slightly, dull yellow in the murk of the cantina. 

“Follow me,” rasped the droid, its voice ridden with static. Without waiting, it turned and began to hobble towards the door of the cantina. Valen got slowly to his feet and cautiously began to follow. He rested his hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, concealed under his poncho, as they emerged back into the feverish heat of Reko Azzar’s sun. 

An idling, dilapidated landspeeder growled and hacked out light gray smoke as the droid climbed aboard. Warily eyeing the smoke seeping out of the engine, Valen clambered in as well. The speeder shook alarmingly as it lurched into motion.

The speeder made its way down the main street of the town, headed west. Slightly bored, Valen examined his surroundings as the droid drove on. Many of the businesses and shops were boarded up and closed, and he could see crowds of wretched, homeless aliens wandering within the slums that they now drove through. 

The Galactic Recession had reached remote Reko Azzar.

It had started in the Corporate Sector and Hutt Space five years ago; a collapse of overinflated commodity prices that triggered a chain reaction. Within a month, _millions_ of companies and interstellar corporations had gone under. _Billions_ of beings lost their jobs, their savings, their wealth. 

The disaster spread like a Kashyyyk wildfire; the Outer and Mid Rim worlds had suffered immensely. Insulated by their advanced economies and great wealth, however, the Core Worlds barely noticed the crisis unfolding around them. So the Federation Senate did nothing. Controlled as it was by Core World politicians who neither felt the hardship, nor cared about those who did, the Federation’s response had been too little, too late. 

This was why Valen was not wearing Jedi robes, and why he had come to Reko Azzar in a nondescript courier shuttle rather than an official Jedi transport. Neither the Federation, nor the Jedi, were particularly popular out here in the Outer Rim. 

The slums fell away, and the speeder plowed over a half-paved path as it headed into the endless swamps and marshes. Stubby trees sprouted here and there on what little solid land there was, sickly yellow-green foliage the same shade as the poisonous clouds in the sky. 

The speeder turned abruptly, ancient inertial compensators whining with the strain of the motion, and now they moved along a narrow path, so narrow that Valen could reach out and touch the tall swamp grasses if he had wanted to. Clouds of teeming insects and small birds circled above the unbroken marsh, like starfighters locked in space battles. Predators and prey, orbiting each other.

Finally they came to a stop, at the base of a craggy hill festooned with olive-green swamp vines. On the close face of the outcropping was the mouth of a dark cave, a gaping black maw from which the sound of dripping water echoed. 

“My master awaits you within the cavern,” crackled the protocol droid, finally addressing him. Then the droid’s sole photoreceptor dimmed as it powered down into stand-by mode. Valen took a deep breath of the fecund, earthy air, then got out of the landspeeder. One hand wrapped around the comforting, heavy hilt of his lightsaber under his coat, he crossed the threshold and entered the cave. 

The floor was wet stone and mud, dusted with gravel, that crunched and squished under the heels of his boots as he carefully made his way deeper into the cave. The path descended steeply, and the light from the mouth of the cave grew dimmer and dimmer with each step Valen took into the murk. 

Eventually, it was so dark that he drew his lightsaber and ignited it to light his way. With its distinctive _snap-hiss_ activation, a burning bright plasma blade flared into existence. It was blinding-blue, the same color as Coruscant’s sky at midday. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden brilliance, he gasped. 

He stood in a long, tall room, studded with meter-high crystals that grew up from the floor. The light of his blade illuminated them, and they sparkled with searing, bright iridescence. Every color of the spectrum glimmered in the dark. It was _beautiful_. 

He reached out with his mind, and in the Force he could sense the cool power emanating from the stones. They were arranged in a geometric pattern of some kind, echoing and amplifying energy into a maelstrom, a whirlwind of power in the center of the formation. The walls and ceiling, vaulted and grand, were much farther than he had first thought.

Then one of the crystals in the center of the room, smaller than the rest, stirred, and he realized this one was not a crystal at all. A small, scaled alien stared at him with lidless red-orange eyes. Valen had traveled the galaxy; he had seen hundreds—no, _thousands_ of different alien species. But he had never seen anything like what he saw before him.

“Welcome.” The alien’s voice was sibilant and smooth, and the cool subterranean air almost shivered with its weight. 

“Who are you?” replied Valen evenly, standing his ground. His grip tightened on the hilt of his lightsaber.

“No, little Jedi. That is the wrong question. Who are _you?_ ” The creature shifted slightly, its iridescent scales shimmering and changing colors. 

“You know who I am. You called me here. Why?” Valen’s voice was razor sharp, annoyed. 

“To help you, of course,” replied the alien, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A vein in Valen’s forehead throbbed as he strode forward and levelled the blade of his lightsaber a finger’s breadth from the alien’s throat.

“Threatening an unarmed old woman? That’s not the Jedi way, is it?” The alien’s voice was mocking, and not at all intimidated.

“How did you know what I was dreaming about?”

“The Force showed me.” She tilted her head as she spoke, locking her slit-pupiled gaze on him. 

“What do you mean, the Force showed you?” he asked, eyes wide with surprise. 

“Are you so blind,” she said, deadly quiet, “that you cannot see what is plain before you?” 

And then Valen realized that the maelstrom, the tempest of Force power concentrated in the room was not some natural phenomenon. A towering volcano, a roiling hurricane, _she_ was a burning star in the Force. The alien wasthe crackling presence he felt. He lowered his lightsaber away from the alien, dazed.

“You’re a Jedi?” he asked.

“Once, perhaps, but that is no longer true, nor is it relevant.”

“What _is_ relevant then?” Valen growled with frustration. 

“We share a gift, little Jedi. The power to see into the future.”

“I can’t—that’s—so what I see in my dreams is definitely the future?” Valen pressed her, his heartbeat racing. The alien did not answer at first, but rather twitched in a way that made his skin crawl.

“Yes. But your vision is unrefined. Unfocused. You need training to master it.”

“Can I change it? The future I see?”

“I can teach you to view whatever you want, whenever you want. That is the problem you face, yes? You see something you wish to stop, but you cannot see how you can change it.”

“Yes.” He only spoke one word, but his desperation and fear were on full display in his clipped tone. 

“We are crude beings in the eyes of the Force, not meant to wrest the future from its grip. It is unnatural. There is a price to warping the natural order of things, little Jedi. Are you willing to pay it?”

“Tell me how,” he said, and in his voice there was unmistakable, cold steel. So she told him how, and watched how he recoiled, disgust pooling in his brown eyes. For thirty long minutes he paced the room like a caged beast, his gaze drifting listlessly over her, the crystals, the room. For a while, he stared into the blinding light of his sky-blue lightsaber blade. Then he spoke.

“Th-there has to be another way. I won’t do that.” 

“I told you there would be a price,” she said, her lipless mouth drawing back in a grotesque replica of a smile. He stumbled away from her.

“I—no. I’m leaving.”

“Struggle, toil, rage against it. When everyone you love is dead, then you will come back of your own accord.” 

Valen stiffened slightly, but didn’t look back as he left the cave and its strange occupant behind.

***

This is Valen Corar:

He is the only child of Orrin Corar, Supreme Commander of the Federation’s Navy. They don’t get along. Orrin wanted nothing to do with the son that killed his wife in childbirth. When the Jedi took Valen in at the age of four, and Orrin learned his son would never be a soldier like him, he grew even more disinterested.

Maybe this is why Valen has always been driven to excel. Maybe he thought his father would finally care. And Valen _has_ excelled. He is gifted with the Force, the youngest Jedi to ever graduate from the rank of Padawan to become a full fledged Jedi Knight. He is selfless, caring, and kind. Valen Corar is the living Jedi dream.

But despite all of this, his father will never care. He knows this, deep down. So Valen makes his own family. He met Sera Jessec, a diplomat working for the Federation’s Diplomatic Corps, on a mission to tropical Rodia. Their marriage ceremony is set to be held in four months. 

And ten years ago, just before his eighteenth birthday, he met Arkai Sull. Arkai was a scared little seven year old who had just lost his mother, and perhaps Valen saw some part of himself in the boy. Now, they are inseparable. Arkai is not just Valen’s Padawan. He is the little brother that Valen never had. 

***

An extremely loud klaxon call blasted into Arkai Sull’s ears, stabbing into his brain and jolting him from sleep. He got up entirely too fast, and his head slammed into the bottom of the bunk above him. He lay there, entirely dazed, struggling to figure out what was going on. 

The source of the klaxon was a battered astromech droid named K7-4Y that tweedled anxiously next to his bed. Seeing that Arkai was still not fully awake, the astromech let loose another siren blast. Arkai yelped and covered his ears.

“Alright K7! I heard you the first time!” He glared angrily at the droid as it let out an innocent whistle. “What the _kriff_ is wrong with you?”

K7 launched into a tirade of beeps and boops and whistles that Arkai could barely understand in his groggy state. 

“What do you mean, Valen’s gone? Where did he even go? There’s nothing on this blasted planet.” K7 twittered judgmentally as he put on a shirt. He rolled his eyes.

“I’m on leave, K7. I can wake up whenever I want.” Arkai walked into the main crew cabin of the courier and pulled open the equipment locker.

“His boots and coat are missing. I’m guessing he went into town.” K7 beeped balefully, fixing its sole photoreceptor on him.

“I’m not going after him. He would have asked me to come if he wanted me along. Besides, I’m hungry.” Arkai walked over to the food processor and tapped in an order for hot hoi-broth. As the machine hummed and worked, he saw K7 _staring_ at him, unmoving, in a reasonable approximation of an accusatory glare.

“What?” he demanded. The droid's dome-shaped head swiveled to the left, then to the right. 

“I—you—are you shaking your head at me?” K7 ignored him, and the astromech turned around and drove away. Arkai glared at the retreating form and made a mental note to buy a restraining bolt the next time he was in a droid parts store. The food processor let out a pleasant tone, and Arkai pulled a cup of steaming hoi-broth out.

With a metallic rumble, the main door of the courier slid open. A solid gust of foul smelling, hot air slammed into Arkai’s nostrils as Valen climbed aboard. Arkai covered his nose with one hand.

“What garbage compactor did you just crawl out of, Valen?” he asked. Valen flashed him a dirt-covered grin as he took off his heavy boots and coat. 

“Just exploring the beauty of nature, my disrespectful Padawan.”

“You’re not going to tell me where you went, are you?” Arkai sighed.

“Afraid not,” replied Valen. He stepped closer to Arkai and took the cup of hoi-broth. “Hey! That was thoughtful, you made breakfast.”

“That’s for me—” began Arkai, but Valen interrupted him by affectionately ruffling his golden hair with a muddy hand. Arkai cried out with disgust and jumped away. 

“Go prep for launch and lay in a course for Coruscant,” said Valen. “I’m gonna go take a sanisteam.”

Valen stepped through the hatch into the crew cabin, leaving Arkai to sullenly pick clumps of mud out of his hair as he headed towards the cockpit. Along the way, he saw K7 beeping amusedly at him. Arkai sighed. It was going to be a long day. 

***

This is Arkai Sull:

Arkai is destined for greatness. It’s in his blood. His older sister, Zara, is an experienced Jedi Knight. His father, Egen, is a member of the Jedi Order’s High Council. His mother was a Jedi Master too—until she was killed in an airspeeder crash.

Arkai was seven, sitting in the backseat when the out-of-control swoop bike slammed into the front of their airspeeder and exploded. Through the Force, this little boy felt his mother die. 

After that… well, he wanted nothing to do with the Force. Nothing to do with being a Jedi. Every time he touched the Force, felt the mystical power surging through him, he could feel her dying. 

That’s when he met Valen Corar. Even then, he was the golden boy; the Jedi prodigy with a bright future. He’d found Arkai curled up in a corner of the Jedi Temple, and sat down next to him. Valen pulled him back from a dark place. Because of Valen, Arkai started to use the Force again. He rebuilt his confidence and conquered his grief. Now, ten years later, he knows he wouldn’t be a Jedi without Valen.

He owes Valen Corar everything. He’d follow him anywhere. Without question. Without hesitation.

***

The blue whorls and chaos of hyperspace filled the forward viewport, a racing vista that made Arkai’s head hurt if he stared at it too long. Behind him, the cockpit door clicked open, and Valen climbed into the seat next to him. His hair was wet, and he _still_ smelled like Reko Azzar.

“I think you hurt K7’s feelings, Arkai. He’s sulking in the engine room,” Valen said.

“Well, _I_ think you need more than one sanisteam.” Arkai’s nose crinkled, but he was smiling as he spoke. “You smell like bantha dung.” Valen playfully swatted at Arkai’s shoulder.

“How long do we have until we get to Coruscant?”

“Uh…” Arkai checked the navicomputer. “We’re four hours out. We’ll be there in time for the Federation Day parade, don’t worry.”

“Hm. Master Haas isn’t going to be there in time, so I just got the message that I’ll be taking her spot in the honor guard,” grumbled Valen.

“Didn’t you have tickets to the Chancellor’s address?” Arkai asked innocently.

“Yeah, I called in a favor to get two tickets for Sera and I, but I can’t go if I’m in the honor guard. Why?” He looked over at Arkai suspiciously.

“Well… it would be a shame to let those tickets go to waste… Why don’t I go with Sera?” Arkai flashed him an angelic smile. Valen snorted with laughter.

“She’d probably prefer to go with you anyway. Why don’t you stay over at our place the night before so you can get there earlier the morning of?”

“Yeah, but remember Dad invited you two over for dinner the night before. Um, tonight actually,” said Arkai, checking his datapad.

“Is-is your dad cooking?” Valen asked sheepishly.

“Unfortunately,” replied Arkai, with a grave expression. Valen looked up at the cockpit ceiling for a moment. 

“I’ll just eat before I come,” he said. They both looked at each other for a second, then burst out laughing. 


	2. Glory Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is starting out slower than I expected, but it's really important that we get to know these characters before shit really hits the fan next chapter. The calm before the storm, if you will...

In the center of the galaxy is a dead world. It is not dead in the sense that it is uninhabited; in fact, it is populated by over one trillion sentient beings. It is dead in the sense that over ninety-nine percent of this planet’s surface is covered by the sprawling bulk of Galactic City. There are no mountains, no oceans, no forests. There is only this mantle of artifice, stacked layers of a vast urbanscape kilometers tall. This is Coruscant, capital of the Galactic Federation. 

In the northern hemisphere of this world rises a massive dome, more than a thousand meters tall. This is the Galactic Senate, where representatives of innumerable worlds haggle, argue, and bargain. Around this dome, thousands of governmental agency buildings rise, blunt white-tooth towers jutting into the sky. Every day, vast swarms of bureaucrats and politicians carry out the business of the Federation within this warren. 

Some distance from the Senate district, a colossal terraced pyramid of white duracrete and glittering transparisteel rises above the skyline of Coruscant. Indomitable and steadfast, this is the New Jedi Temple. The headquarters of the Jedi Order, it has become a symbol of hope and freedom.

If one were to observe the skylanes and traffic, they would probably note that everything seemed much more crowded and hectic than normal. This is because tomorrow is Federation Day; a celebration of the Founding of the Galactic Federation. Tomorrow will be a day of festivities and hoverparades, of mixers and parties, all culminating in the Chancellor’s Address and the Founding Gala. 

But tomorrow is no ordinary Federation Day. It marks three hundred years, to the day, since the Founding. For high Coruscanti society, the galaxy’s elite, this is the social event of a lifetime. Senators and socialites and dignitaries commission the most extravagant costumes and jockey for the best tickets. The Senate Guard and the Jedi Order form honor guards and begin to secure the Senate District in preparation for the events. The rich and powerful descend on Galactic City. 

The stage is set, the actors are in place, for the grand act. For the death of the Federation. 

On the western face of the New Jedi Temple, on a medium sized outdoor landing pad, Arkai gently maneuvered the courier vessel to a soft landing. The engines thrummed as they cycled down, the cabin lights dimming as the courier powered down. 

“Let me do the post flight checklist,” said Valen, tapping Arkai on the shoulder. “You’ve been sitting for hours.” Arkai got up from the pilot’s chair, stretching his cramped muscles. 

“I might go down to the sparring studios and practice,” Arkai said. “Wanna go for a couple rounds?”

“No, no,” laughed Valen, as he sat down in the chair. “I don’t have the limitless energy of an akk-dog pup like you. Besides, I think Sera is waiting for me outside.” He tapped the viewport, where a small crowd of people had gathered outside the ship. 

“Oh, stang, I better go tell her the good news!” crowed Arkai as he bounded out of the cockpit.

“What good news?” Valen yelled after him. He heard the main door of the courier slide open, and Arkai’s faint voice drifted back up to the cockpit.

“That she gets to go to the Chancellor’s Address with _me_!”

Five minutes later, his checklist complete, Valen and K7 walked out of the open hatch out onto the landing pad. The sky was cloudless and azure, and the bright yellow sunshine beat down on him. He grinned as he saw familiar faces clustered a couple meters away. 

Sera saw him first, and she returned his grin as they half-walked, half-ran towards each other. He hugged her tightly, the wind making her hair tickle his face.

“I missed you,” he said softly into her ear. She stepped away slightly.

“Why do you smell so bad?” she said, laughing. 

“I fell into a marsh while I was climbing out of a cave. This is the smell after two sanisteams.” He sighed.

“I can’t imagine the smell before you showered. Poor Arkai.” 

“He’ll be fine,” Valen said, rolling his eyes. “He’s not the one stuck on honor guard duty tomorrow. You don’t mind going with him, do you?”

“Not at all. He’s a sweet kid. I’ll miss you, though.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. They stayed like that for a long second, glad to be together again, until Valen heard someone clear their throat behind them. He pulled back and looked over Sera’s shoulder.

“I hate to interrupt,” said Egen Sull, smiling, “but are you two still coming for dinner tonight?” With his short blond hair and vibrant green eyes, Egen looked like an older version of his son. “Arkai ran off before I could ask what you decided.”

“We’ll be there, Master,” Valen said. Egen chuckled heartily. 

“Valen,” he said, shaking his head with a smile, “how many times do I have to tell you to just call me Egen?” 

“He’s ridiculous,” Sera said, wrapping her arm around him. “When he proposed, he started out by calling me _Miss Jessec_.”

“I was nervous!” Valen shot back, blushing. “Where did Arkai go anyway? He left his datapad behind.” 

“He dragged Zara with him to spar,” Egen said. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing either of them until tonight.” 

***

The air of the sparring studio was climate-controlled to be colder than the rest of the Temple, and the sweat beading on Arkai’s arms and chest made it seem colder still. He rested in a half crouch, examining his adversary. 

Zara Sull smirked right back at him from across the mat. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes were two green beacons of fierce fire. He couldn’t help smiling back at her. 

Arkai was somewhat of a late bloomer when it came to drawing on the Force. He was too impatient, too impulsive, Valen always said. He struggled to lift even the smallest objects telekinetically; and asking him to meditate would be an exercise in futility. But this?

When he had a lightsaber in his hand, he didn’t feel awkward or clumsy. He was _good_ at this. This is where he belonged. 

The siblings wielded practice sabers, metal rods that delivered an adjustable electric shock when they struck bodies. It was much safer than the alternative; real lightsabers could slash through limbs with no resistance whatsoever. 

On the far wall of the studio, a metal door swooshed open. Arkai looked over to see who was coming in—and then Zara lunged at him. He brought his saber up to clumsily block her swipe, then hopped backwards as she kept coming. He took a deep, centering breath, and now it was _his_ turn to go on the attack, using his height to rain shattering blows on her from above. To any observer, their Force-augmented motions were mere blurs.

With a particularly powerful strike, Arkai ripped the saber from Zara’s grasp and sent it flying. She gestured towards his legs before he could follow through, and an invisible force swept out his legs from under him. He landed winded, on his back. Both sabers flew into her hands, and she levelled them at his prone form.

“That’s cheating!” Arkai slapped the mat in frustration. Zara dropped the sabers onto a nearby rack. 

“Well, maybe if you were less clumsy, you wouldn’t fall over your own feet,” Zara replied innocently. She offered her hand to him, and pulled him to his feet. 

“Yeah, ok.” Arkai grinned, made a fist his right hand, and one of the sabers shakily rose and shot telekinetically towards her. Laughing, Zara jumped out of its path and sent it flying out of his control with a wave of her hand.

The metal rod spun, end over end, arcing a half dozen meters away. Then, with a loud buzz, it slammed into a nearby Jedi’s back. He cried out in surprise, clutching at the small of his back. Arkai and Zara exchanged nervous looks, and then adopted suitably remorseful expressions as they rushed to help. 

From the back, all Arkai could see was that this Jedi had short, tousled black hair and light brown skin. Then he turned around, and Arkai realized he was staring into the scowling face of Zedd Korr. 

***

This is Zedd Korr:

He is the promising Padawan learner of Jedi Master Seka Haas. A quiet young human with a reputation for being reserved. A good-hearted stickler for the rules with strict personal discipline. 

He also can’t _stand_ Arkai Sull. He’s known Arkai nearly his whole life; Jedi initiates study for years together before they become Padawans. And in those long years, he’s come to realize Arkai is brash, impatient, irreverent, and above all, _loud_. The antithesis of everything a Jedi should be. 

The day Zedd had been chosen to graduate to the rank of Padawan, he’d been so happy. All his hard work was paying off; finally, he could surround himself with Jedi as disciplined and as serious as he was. 

But Arkai was still here. Zedd could feel the growing welt on his back from the training saber that had been… thrown? Who _throws_ a practice saber? Gritting his teeth and frowning fiercely, Zedd gets up. That’s it. He’s going to let Arkai have it this time.

***

“The sparring studio rules,” Zedd said, as the Sull siblings rushed to help him up, “state that training sabers should not be thrown or flung around with the Force.” He slapped away Arkai’s hand and got up himself, wincing slightly.

“I tried telling Arkai to stop, but he wouldn’t listen,” Zara said. She shook her head, glaring at Arkai. He gaped back at her.

“What?! You knocked the saber into him!” 

“You two are so—” Zedd took a calming breath. “Just don’t do it again. Someone could get hurt.”

“I’m sorry, Zedd.” Arkai said, and he _did_ look pretty apologetic. “Are you alright?” Zedd stretched gingerly. 

“I-I’m fine.” He couldn’t quite seem to stay angry while Arkai stared at him with those big, green, sad eyes; so he looked down at his hands. “It’s just a training saber.”

“We were about to grab some lunch.” Arkai smiled at him. “Do you want to come?”

“I already ate, but thank you,” he replied. 

There was an awkward silence. Zedd turned around and walked away stiffly, a little confused, a little sore, and thoroughly annoyed.

***

Although the Jedi Temple had accommodations for all Jedi, some, especially those with families, elected to live elsewhere on Coruscant. The Sull family maintained an apartment at 1700 Seratca Tower in the Vorkana district, not far from the Jedi Temple. The denizens of this relatively upscale locale were mostly government workers, and the many residential skyscrapers and megatowers here were clean, quiet, and safe. 

Every single one of these massive buildings boasted dozens of turbolifts to navigate their extreme height. In one such turbolift, shooting up the Seratca Tower at dizzying speed, stood Valen Corar and Sera Jessec. 

He gazed at her as she tried to fix his hair, smiling like an idiot. She ran her fingers through his brown hair one last time, then sighed. 

“You need a haircut. I feel like I’m marrying a Wookie.” She noticed his dopey expression, and laughed. “What are you smiling about?” 

“I’ve been away on missions for the past four months. Can’t I just be happy to see you?” He protested. She hugged him, her head resting on his shoulder. 

“I missed you too.” The thrumming of the turbolift’s inertial compensators grew louder as it came to a stop. The door hissed open, revealing a hallway with massive transparisteel windows on one side and widely spaced apartment doors on the other side. The setting sun doused the white walls with golden light. 

In front of one of the doors stood Zara and Arkai Sull. The two siblings were bickering, but then Arkai saw Valen. He broke off the argument and marched towards the turbolift. 

“Uh oh,” Sera said, trying her very best not to break out into laughter.

“Is everything alright, Arkai?” Valen said cautiously, walking out of the turbolift. 

“Zara threw a practice saber at Zedd Korr in the studio and she blamed it on _me_. And now he probably hates me even more than he did alread—why are you laughing?” He smacked Valen, who had chuckled quietly, on the arm. Down the hall, an apartment door swung open. Egen Sull’s head poked out into the hallway as he called out.

“Are you all going to come inside to eat or should I bring the food into the hallway?” Chastened, the four of them filed down the hallway and into the apartment. Zara and Arkai resumed their bickering, and Sera slipped her hand into Valen’s. 

“Did you miss this?” she asked him. 

“Are you kidding?” He said back, grinning. “This feels like home.” 

Egen Sull may have been a poor cook, but he certainly tried to compensate for it with his enthusiasm. He had ditched his normal plain, Jedi robes for a ratty apron splattered with grease and brown sauce, and he gestured proudly towards the table set for five. 

“I made Rodian sourfry! Help yourselves.” Valen had fully intended to lie and say that he wasn’t hungry, but the earnestness in Egen’s face made him guilty. As everyone sat down, he spooned a heaping helping of sourfry onto his plate. Everyone except Egen watched with bated breath as he took a bite.

“It’s not bad, Master Sull,” Valen said, doing an admirable job of hiding his surprise. 

“It should be. I had it delivered from that new Rodian restaurant,” Egen said. All of a sudden, there was a flurry of motion as everyone around the table reached for the sourfry, relieved.

“My cooking isn’t that bad. You’re going to hurt my feelings,” Egen grumbled.

“What hurts my feelings,” replied Arkai, “is that Zara humiliated me in front of—”

“Oh, will you stop. It was just as much your fault as mine!” Zara interrupted him. Arkai studied her for a second, then rested a hand on her shoulder with mock concern. 

“I really hope you didn’t pull a muscle throwing me under the landspeeder like that,” he said sweetly. Zara narrowed her eyes, and then they were off, snapping and squabbling. 

“They’ve been going at it,” Egen said wearily to Valen and Sera, “for the past hour.”

“I just don’t know why you care so much about what _Zedd_ _Korr_ , of all people, thinks about you,” Zara said, rolling her eyes. The tips of Arkai’s ears reddened, and he shoved a spoonful of food into his mouth.

“I don’t. I’m trying to eat,” he said, voice muffled by his full mouth. There was sudden silence at the table as everyone stared at him. Clearing his throat, Valen jumped in. 

“How was your mission to Krsstarr, Master Sull?” Egen rubbed his temples with one hand and sighed.

“Bad, Valen. Really bad. The anti-Core sentiment in the Outer Rim is getting out of control. And I don’t blame them. The stimulus and relief bill has been stuck in the Senate for nearly four years now.” 

“I heard there were riots,” Sera said, setting down her spoon.

“Small ones on Krsstarr. The ones on Pyrdr and Selvare were much bigger, and from what I hear, much more violent.” 

“What’s stopping the Senate from passing the stimulus bill?” Zara asked, a little puzzled.

“Any tax cuts or relief bills that benefit the Outer Rim Worlds would require higher taxes and tariffs on the Core Worlds,” Sera explained. “A lot of very powerful people don’t want that.”

“The Krsstarri and several other species are boycotting the Federation Day celebrations tomorrow,” Egen sighed. “They’ve recalled their Senators from Coruscant.”

“Speaking of tomorrow, Dad, I can go to the Chancellor’s Address with Sera, right?” Arkai piped up.

“Of course, but I thought Valen would want to go with you, Sera,” Egen said, looking over at her.

“I have to take Master Haas’s place in the Chancellor’s honor guard,” Valen explained. “Can Arkai stay over at my place so we can get an early start?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Egen said. “I did also order dessert, if anyone is still hungry…”

***

Later that night, with Arkai asleep in the guest room, Valen and Sera shared a bottle of Andoan spicewine on the balcony of their apartment. They stared out at the night sky of Coruscant, idly talking as massive streams of flying vehicles flew around titanic skyscrapers. A warm breeze ruffled his hair as he looked over at her.

He hadn’t told her about the dream he’d been having while he was away. He didn’t tell her about the strange alien’s warning. There was only this moment, this night, and he didn’t want to taint it with fear.

“Do you want to dance?” Valen asked. He tapped his datapad, and soft, slow music began to play. Sera’s face lit up with a smile.

“I love this song!” she said, pulling him to his feet.

“I know,” he said, laughing. They swayed together, the flickering lights of the eternally busy city illuminating their uplifted faces. It was a picture-perfect moment, a memory he’d cherish forever.

But the fear was still there, gnawing at him deep in his heart. He knew the nightmare would come back tonight. 


	3. Firebrand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! We're getting into it now. Just a warning; this chapter references a terrorist attack.

Hurtling through the incomprehensible azure chaos of hyperspace is a blazing point of light. On further inspection, this point of light resolves itself into the shape of a starship. A sleek Mon Calamari invention, the chrome luxury cruiser hangs in the blue like some giant predatory fish. This is the _Shining Way._

The leisure cruiser is brand new; a state-of-the-art vessel powered by a modern hypermatter reactor. A simple stateroom on such an exemplary vessel could cost in excess of a hundred thousand standard credits. 

The entire ship has been rented out, however, by the Bank of Aargau to ferry its executive board to Coruscant to attend the Federation Day festivities. The cafes and lounges and ballrooms of the _Shining Way_ are crowded with exorbitantly wealthy Muuns, avaricious Nemoidians, and representatives from a hundred different worlds indebted to the Bank. 

There is one more group represented aboard the _Shining Way._ Concealed within cargo containers stored in the ship’s forward hold is a force of fifty hijackers, formidably armed and fanatical. 

For the _Shining Way_ is an ill-fated vessel. Its passengers do not know it yet, but the vessel will become infamous in the annals of galactic history for the role it will play in the upcoming Federation Day celebrations. 

In twenty four standard hours, the galaxy will be changed, transformed irreversibly. Hurtling through the incomprehensible chaos of hyperspace is a poison dart, soaring inexorably towards the beating heart of the Federation. 

The Grand Convocation Chamber of the Senate had often been described as breathtaking. A gargantuan, egg-shaped chamber in the middle of the Senate building, it was lined with thousands of detachable hover-platforms, each bearing representatives from a different member world of the Federation. In the center of the vast room rose the Chancellor’s podium. In this room, the business of the galaxy was carried out. 

Towards the apex of the room were the Galleries; massive stands that allowed up to ten thousand people to observe the Senate chamber. Normally these seats were open to the public, but for the Chancellor’s Address, admittance had been limited today to ticket holders only. 

Sera and Arkai pushed through dense crowds of excited beings to make their way towards their seats in the South Gallery. Massive white pillars of carved larmalstone rose, grand and proud, holding up an inlaid ceiling decorated with gilded frescoes of the Founding. 

The hallway was packed beyond capacity, and there was a mind-boggling diversity of species, colors, noises, _smells_ …

Arkai was so busy staring that he didn’t even notice the tail of the alien in front of him until he had stomped on it, eliciting an angry yelp and furious chittering. Sera grabbed him by the arm, apologizing in some unknown language, before shooting him a glance.

“Arkai, stop gawking and watch where you’re going,” she said, smiling. 

“Sorry, Sera. There’s just so much going on.”

“Is this your first time in the Senate building?”

“No, no. I’ve been up in the Galleries before once. I just haven’t seen this many people in one place before. It’s… really something.” Arkai let his hand drift out and ran his fingers over the carved Ithorian marble wall of the South Vestibule. 

“That it is,” Sera said, gently leading him forward. They stepped through the last archway and into the Gallery itself. “When was the first time you came here, Arkai?”

“Last year, Valen brought me here in the middle of the night when the Senate wasn’t in session. This place was deserted.”

“Why would you come to the Galleries at night with Valen?” Sera said, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

“Oh… um. I don’t actually think I was supposed to tell you that.” Arkai blushed a little as he suddenly started walking towards their assigned seats. Sera started after him, curiosity kindled. 

“Well, you can’t just say that and not tell me why.” He kept speed-walking, as if he hadn’t even heard her. “Arkai! _Arkai Sull!_ ”

He finally reached their seats and froze, unsure of what to do. She caught up to him, grabbing him and whirling him around. 

“Alright. Spill!” Sera said, staring right into his panicked eyes.

“W-well Valen wanted to take you to the Gallery for a date but he didn’t want to mess it up. So h-he made me agree to go on practice dates,” Arkai mumbled, unable to meet her gaze for long. 

“That’s—wait. _Dates_? As in more than one? How many of our dates _did_ he practice with you?”

Arkai made a choked noise in his throat, then said something very quietly. She glared at him until he cleared his throat and said it again, louder.

“All of them.”

“ _All of them?_ What the—” she shook her head. “Did he take you to Liberty Square in Pinnacle Park and—”

“Yeah, and he practiced his proposal speech there for two hours.” Arkai frowned, a little indignant. “People looked at us funny.” 

Sera just looked at him for a long moment. Then she burst into uncontrollable laughter, her sides heaving as she collapsed into her seat. Arkai’s cheeks grew hot as people around them turned to look. 

“It’s not that funny…” he grumbled, sitting down next to her and crossing his arms. “You’re not gonna tease him about it, are you? ’Cause then I’d get in trouble for telling you.” 

“No, no,” she replied, struggling to not giggle. “I won’t mention it.”

Arkai sighed, resigned. He didn’t believe her for a second. 

***

Valen tried and failed to suppress a yawn, dark circles under his eyes. His companion, Jedi Master Ghor Sellac, looked over at him.

“Sleepless night, Jedi Corar?” he asked Valen, his voice deep and gravelly. Ghor was a gigantic, reptilian Falleen, standing well over two meters tall. His voice and countenance startled some of the rodent-like Senatorial staff that skittered around them.

“Bad dreams, Master. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sweating. Are you feeling well?” Ghor had turned to examine him, resting a clawed hand on Valen’s shoulder. 

“I-I just feel…” Valen rubbed his eyes with cold hands. “There’s something wrong. I can feel it. Something’s happening.” Ghor’s scaled brow furrowed as he took this in. He pulled out his comlink and checked his messages.

“The Chancellor’s procession is passing through the North Gate right now. They’re a little behind schedule, but I can alert the Jedi posted there if you sense something.” Ghor’s complete faith in Valen’s instinct was somewhat flattering.

“I can’t tell you anything specific. Maybe just tell the guards to be careful, if anything.” Valen wiped his sweaty palms on his robes and took a breath. “Sorry. I’m kind of all over the place today.”

“If it turns out to be a real threat, Jedi Corar, then we will both be thankful that you mentioned your feelings.” Ghor’s voice was gentle and reassuring, at odds with his ferocious appearance. “Shall we head in?”

Valen nodded mutely, running a hand through his hair. They walked through the West Gate into the Main Senate Lobby to take up their positions. 

***

The Senator from the Core World of Corellia, Tytus Renn, stewed under the midday glare of the sun as he waited. The duracrete landing pad he stood on was blindingly bright, reflecting sunlight and emanating heat he could feel through the soles of his shoes. He tugged at his elaborate tabard, doing his best not to sweat. 

A shadow, watery and gray, cast itself at his feet. He looked up. There, high in the royal blue sky, the starship he was waiting for descended. A welcome breeze tugged at the hem of his heavy shimmersilk clothes as the ship settled down on the landing pad. Plastering on a smile to hide his irritation at her lateness, he stepped forward as the ship’s ramp swung open. Aides and guards scuttled out, but he paid them no mind. 

Sky blue was a color associated with good luck and celebration in Kuati culture; this was why Kuati Senator Sybelis Apo had donned a gown in that color. She waved lazily as she saw him, speaking with a rich and mellifluous voice.

“Tytus.” She had descended the ramp and nodded at him, the golden threads woven into her black hair glinting in the light. He offered her a tight smile in return.

“The air traffic must have been horrible. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you late, Sybelis.”

“I was nervous, Tytus. It would have been such a _shame_ to miss our esteemed Chancellor’s speech,” she replied, voice dripping with honeyed venom. 

“He’s a spineless leader, for spineless times,” he said. “But let us go in. I’ve already spent enough time out here in this heat.” 

Together they walked, under a vaulted larmalstone archway and through the East Gate of the Senate building. 

***

A hypermatter reactor is a technological work of art; hugely destructive potential contained and managed to provide nearly limitless power. The reactor aboard the _Shining Way_ is a newer model, which uses innovative berondium control rods to limit the reactor’s output.

At 1037 local time, Coruscant’s Senate District Atmospheric Traffic Control makes contact with the _Shining Way_ as it enters the upper atmosphere. Voiceprint analysis will later reveal that the person piloting the luxury cruiser is not the real captain. The vessel receives its approved flight path and begins its descent towards the Senate building. 

The ship’s emergency log system will later indicate that at 1038 local time, ten of the fifteen berondium control rods that restrict the reactor are fully withdrawn from the core. Regulations aboard the _Shining Way_ usually dictate that a minimum of seven control rods remain within the core; with only five in place, the reactor output begins to rise drastically. 

At 1102 local time, the _Shining Way_ begins its final approach towards the Senate building. Its projected landing path will allow it to dock with a debarking vestibule high up on the south face of the building. The log will later show that only one control rod is left within the hypermatter core. At this point, sirens would have sounded throughout the ship as power output began to exceed safe levels.

At 1105 local time, the hijackers turn off the _Shining Way_ ’s transponder signal. For the next couple of minutes, the Senate District ATC has no idea where the vessel has gone. They have no way of knowing that the starship has deviated from its landing plan, accelerating towards a hanger bay six hundred meters away from its assigned space. 

At 1107 local time, the last control rod is retracted from the hypermatter core, and the reactor’s power begins to exponentially increase. The vessel enters a steep dive towards its target. Eyewitnesses will later describe the horror of the rapidly accelerating metallic-chrome bulk of the _Shining Way_ , entering a forty-five degree nose dive as its sublight drives flare with power.

At 1108 local time, the _Shining Way_ plunges into the south facade of the Senate building. Hundreds of beings are instantly killed. Despite the extreme force of impact, the densely built starship’s fuselage is mostly intact as it rips deeper into the building. Ten seconds after impact, however, the hypermatter reactor’s containment shield finally fails due to structural stress.

Then, the _Shining Way_ and hundreds of meters of the surrounding Senate building vanish in a ball of pure white fire. 

***

Arkai felt it in the Force first. He was staring down the Senate chamber at the vacant Chancellor’s Podium when hundreds of lives ended violently. There was a horrific ripping sensation in the Force that made him gasp and clutch his head. A moment later, the entire Gallery shuddered slightly. Spectators looked around, confused. 

He could feel Sera’s arm on his back, and he could feel her asking what was wrong. Then he felt the blast. If the first wave of deaths had been a crashing swell, then this was a tsunami of epic proportion, a gigantic tidal wave of searing hot death that made him _scream_ , fingernails digging into his forehead. 

Around him, the entire Gallery bucked and rattled. People were thrown off their seats by the force of the shaking. Cracks began to stretch across the ceiling, and the lights went out entirely. Fearful cries from a thousand throats filled the dark. 

A moment later, emergency power generators kicked in as a terrifying siren began to cleave the air. As the harsh red glare of emergency lights flared into existence, Sera shook him until he took his head out of his hands and looked at her.

“There’s so many people and they’re _dead_ —” he gasped, barely able to speak. 

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Arkai had never heard Sera sound frightened before, but she was now. He realized she was bleeding from a cut on her head.

“I-I don’t know. I feel so _many_ people dying,” he said, his voice stricken and quiet. Then there was a rumbling roar, a percussion that made Arkai’s teeth hurt. He looked up. 

In the scarlet light, he saw cracks and dust beginning to fall from the ceiling of the Gallery. With a solid crack, a chunk of duracrete broke free and fell twenty meters to slam into a row of seats not far from where Sera and Arkai sat. 

Sera screamed something entirely inaudible as more chunks of the ceiling began to rain on the seats below. Some stone chunks were fist sized, bouncing off elaborate upholstery. Other pieces were the size of landspeeders, crushing plush chairs and living flesh alike with ease. 

Arkai stood, thrusting his hands upwards as he called on the Force to try to hold the ceiling up. But he knew he couldn’t stop the collapse. He wasn’t strong enough. The crumbling accelerated, and now the floor of the Gallery shook uncontrollably as massive blocks of duracrete and decorative larmalstone slammed into it. 

Something hard and craggy slammed into his shoulder, driving him to his knees and knocking the breath out of him. Dazed, he looked over at Sera’s general direction. She was grabbing his hand, pulling him up. Their eyes met, and she squeezed his hand. 

With a crackle, even the emergency lights fizzled out as the South Gallery became a stone tomb for countless beings. 

***

Three hundred lives ended, ripped from their bodies far too early, the shockwave ringing through the Force. Valen’s head throbbed, cutting him off mid-sentence. The Senator he was talking to frowned and asked him something, but his eyes were searching the crowd, picking out the massive shape of Master Ghor Sellac. 

He found him, rubbing his forehead. He started to make his way towards the Falleen. Then the second wave hit him. The second wave, ten thousand deaths strong, pain and despair and bone-crunching black. His vision flickered.

The world stopped. 

He was on his hands and knees, not sure how he got there, gasping for breath. The whole room seemed to shudder. And then he realized that it _was_ shuddering, it wasn’t just him, the whole room had shook violently and everyone was sprawled on the floor. 

Valen forced himself to stand, knees weak and wobbly. He stumbled towards Ghor, who was slowly rising himself. The Falleen was speaking urgently into his comlink, trying to figure out what had just happened. 

Because something _terrible_ had happened. Something cataclysmic. Something apocalyptic. 

A far off wail sounded, muffled by the thick walls of the Senate Building. It grew steadily louder and louder. The siren sounded in this room, now, along with a monotone robotic voice.

“Structural integrity compromised. Evacuation is recommended.” The siren was ear-splitting and painful, each screech driving a spike into Valen’s aching head. 

“Structural integrity compromised. Evacuation is recommended.” The Senate guards in the room began to marshal the panicked crowd, driving them out into the hallway.

“Structural integrity compromised. Evacuation is recommended.” Ghor’s slit-pupiled reptilian eyes met his, and they reminded Valen of the alien from Reko Azzar. 

There were more deaths now, and tens of thousands of beings in extreme pain. The Force blasted through his mind. It was an obscene choir, a screaming chorus of agony and fear and death. He clamped down on the Force, shutting it out of his mind so he could _think_. He almost fell over. 

Ghor’s clawed hand was clamped on his upper arm, holding him steady. 

“Senate District ATC just confirmed it. A ship just hit the Senate building.” Ghor’s voice was solemn. “Are you able to stand, Jedi Corar? We should report to help the rescue efforts.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” His hands were slick and clammy, and his chest felt like someone had roundhouse-punched him right in the heart. And then he went cold. Colder than a Hoth snowstorm. His lungs seized up with a sudden terror.

“Master, what part of the building was damaged by the collision?” He _knew_. Before he even got a reply, he knew. 

“The southern face, I think...” Ghor’s mouth was still moving, and he was still talking. But Valen couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t even hear the evacuation sirens anymore. There was just a rushing noise, the noise of a massive object slicing through air, rushing past his dizzy head. 

Because the burning bruise in his chest was Sera. He opened himself up to the Force again, desperately reaching out to make sure she was ok. 

All he heard was screaming. 

He tried to sense Arkai next, but the suffering of thousands, tens of thousands, made it hopeless. There was too much noise. He pressed his face into his palms, trying to calm down. In his mind, _that_ nightmare began to play. Over and over.

***

Billions of beings are watching the official Senate broadcast of the upcoming Chancellor’s Address when the _Shining Blade_ strikes the south facade. Billions see the room shake, see the debris trailing gray and black smoke falling through the Grand Convocation Chamber, see the red emergency lights wink on and hear the sirens go off. Billions of people are watching when the feed cuts out entirely. 

There is static for a handful of seconds, a ominous buzzing calm before the storm. Then the feed is back. Billions are still watching in a horrified stupor. But the feed is different now; the quality is lower and the holoimage is fuzzy. There is a room cloaked entirely in black, with a single, harsh light source roughly illuminating a table and a chair. 

There is a man in this chair.

He sits still, resting gloved hands on the table before him. His hooded tunic is charcoal-grey, swallowing up the light that hits it. But his face is what immediately draws the eye. Under the sloping hood is a bone-carved mask, with gaping black cavities where the eyes and mouth would normally be. They are singularities; black holes in which there is no light, not even the hint of light. 

When he speaks, his voice is distorted. Robotic. Every word carries the hint of a growl and a sneer. This is the voice of fear. This is the voice billions will fear. 

“I am the Firebrand, and I have a message for the Core Worlds…” 


End file.
